The Case
Thursday, December 10, 1936
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The train pulled slowly out of the tunnel and into the valley which lay beyond. The trees, with their tops blanketed in snow, were high and strong here in Austria and their beauty was only overshadowed by the towering cliff faces upon which they sat. Inside the dining car, it was tea-time for James Cordnoir. He was looking out the window and waiting for his tea. The attendant arrived, pushing a cart laden with tea and cream supplies.
“Something “summery”, please.”
“How about this Monsieur, a cherry black tea? “
“Sounds fine, thanks.”
‘Tea on board a train’, James thought. An hour later than he usually enjoyed it, but no matter. He had no right to his usual habits. He was a guest now.
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The car window rattled against Mr. Brock’s forehead, producing a kind of numbing feeling.
“Driver, Eh, What’s the rush?”
“Once e’ get intu the city, ull slow don.”
“Well, don’t slow down too much, it’s rather important.”
“Hm.”
The driver was right, of course, as Vienna was filled to the brim with motors, and Brock barely arrived in time. 3:58. He had two minutes. He pulled out a cigarette from his breast pocket and glanced at his side holster. All set.
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Mr. Cordnoir arrived by car several minutes later. He paid the driver and stood on the curb for a breath of fresh air. 4:07. He had three minutes. He retrieved the typed card from his pocket. Enter the building at precisely 4:10. He walked over to a newspaper stand and bought a Kronen Zeitung. He had always like foreign papers. One of the fastest ways to get to know a city.
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Just inside the front doors lay an old desk with a chair on top of it. Evidently someone was moving, Mr. Brock thought. He went towards the door at the end of the hall, and as his card had told him, it was unlocked.
On the other side sat a large room, unfurnished spare a single table. The modern type, not like the ornate desk he had seen in the hall. On it lay two briefcases.
Without hesitation, Brock rushed forward. His monogrammed attaché case was on the left, an envelope laying on top of it. This is what he had come for. With both hands, he took the case and envelope into a tight embrace. He was about to leave when a thought struck him.
Ambush. If I go back out the front door, I’ll be in that narrow hall. Not a good place to get stuck in.
No, it would be better to take the back door out, then slip through the alley. With just a glance at the second case, he sped across the room and out into the world. A much more dangerous world than before.
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At 4:10 James put his paper in his back pocket with the card and slipped through the doors of the building. He waited for a second in the landing, then started towards the door at the end of the hall. ‘strange office building, no labels on the doors’, he thought.
His hand reached for the doorknob but stopped. The door wasn’t just unlocked, it was open, only very slightly. A nudge of his foot revealed the room. It was evidently some kind of warehouse, with the exposed brick on the inside of the walls. His slow stride brought him to the table. His leather portfolio lay to the right on the desk.
The table was dusty. Not so much as a fine coating of grey coated its rough wooden surface. But there wasn’t dust everywhere, no, exactly mirroring the space where his portfolio lay, a rectangle of clean wood sat. He wasn’t the only one who received the letter. No, the other briefcase would have been picked up, say, less than an hour, perhaps even minutes ago. Where was that person now?
No point trying to follow them. He hadn’t seen them come out the door, so they must have been gone before he arrived.
James reckoned he had time for a quick inspection of circumstances. He bent over the case. Not so much as a single fingerprint. And the letter, in a curious indigo envelope, was unmarked sole for his name. The room yielded one other clue to support James’s theory of a second unknown person’s presence. A small smear of dirt near the back door.
James looked out; no one was in sight. He hadn’t expected the person to hang around. Judging by the dirt, they had run out of the room at a good pace.
With a careful hand, the portfolio was lifted from the table. James exited via the front door.
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Mr. Brock called a car and got in quickly.
‘The ambassador Wien, please’.
The car began to move through the streets of Vienna.
It took Mr. Brock 20 minutes to reach his hotel. He had booked ahead, as he always did when a job came along in a foreign city. He expected to be here for a few days, no more than 4. He checked in under the alias of Robert brown and was shown to his room.
“Carry your briefcase sir?”
“No thanks”, he said to the porter. He wouldn’t risk it, not at a time like this.
As he gave him the tip, his mind wandered to a song. ’We’re in the money’.. Oh, well. He was now. He added a schilling to the tip.
His room was spacious, which Brock didn’t like. Spacious meant more room to hide.
He sat on the bed and opened his briefcase. It was filled with bills. There must have been ten thousand pounds in there. A bigger job than he thought, but he was prepared. He slit open the indigo envelope with his pen knife. Inside was a thick piece of paper.
Mr. Alec Brock
Here are your instructions. I trust you to carry them out, for if you do not, I will be retrieving my money over your dead body.
On Saturday, December 12, there is to be a party. The party will take place in the ballroom of the Hotel de soleil in Paris. The host and hostess’s names are Mr. And Mdm. Lavigne.
Before the party ends, Madame Lavigne must be dead
Enclosed is a train ticket to Paris. You leave tomorrow.
Good luck, Mr. Brock.
I hardly need to tell you to destroy this letter.
Mr. Brock put down the letter. He wondered if he could get his money back on the reservation.
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James headed for a café and ordered an Irish coffee. Discreetly, he sat at his table and opened his portfolio case a bit. It was stuffed with bills. Whoever hired him wasn’t playing around.
Or they could be fake, of course.
That could be investigated later. For now, it was in his interest to read the letter addressed to him.
Mr. James Cordnoir
I thank you for receiving my letter, and hope that you will take the case that I present.
On Saturday, December 12, there will be a party at the Hotel de soleil, in Paris.
I have reason to believe that during the course of that party there will be a murder, or at least an attempt at one.
The host and hostess names are Mr. and Mdm. Lavigne.
Enclosed is a train ticket to Paris. It leaves tomorrow.
Good luck Mr. Cordnoir.
‘Another Irish coffee, please’.
James took a sip and thought. It was cases like these that kept him in the detective profession.
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The next morning Mr. Cordnoir checked out of his hotel and took a car back to the train station. His ride was smooth, as the traffic wasn’t as back in the early hours of the morning. He looked at his ticket. It looked as though he would be having his breakfast on the train.
He wondered if the client had got him first class.
Indeed, they had, and James was welcomed to the first-class lounge while the train was readied. As he sat in the plush seat, he studied the patrons around him. An old habit, one that was almost subconscious to him now.
To his left sat a young woman with light brown hair and cream-colored skin. Her back was straight in the cushioned chair. She wore a dress of red and black velvet, it was surely quite expensive, but the sleeve was slightly frayed at the end. She held herself with grace and sophistication, but there were dark circles under her eyes, and a new scratch on her hand. Little luggage accompanied her, a case and a purse.
Cordnoir reckoned she was running away from something, or someone.
On his right sat an older couple. The man was dressed well, though not luxuriously. A bowtie and collared shirt concealed what James was sure a hard-worked body. His hands were calloused and were slightly dirty. The lady had on a hat and simple dress. They seemed quite respectable, hardworking folk.
Neither of these two parties he felt, were likely to take first class. Why were they here?
Cordnoir wondered this and surveyed the rest of the room. Four more men, a boy, and three women.
A rich young couple in fancy dress, two bachelors, smoking and talking at the bar, a mother traveling with the boy, and an old lady with a small dog.
Interesting assortment.
The train pulled out of the station 5 minutes late. “Sorry about that, said the porter, someone got here just as we were supposed to leave.”
“Quite alright.” Cordnoir relaxed in the first-class dining car as the outskirts of Vienna rushed past his eye. Most of the characters he had seen in the lounge were in the car. The old lady, refusing to part with the terrier, had placed it on the seat opposite her. James knew the type.
The older couple were sitting at the end of the car. Across the aisle, one of the bachelors, a short french man, was having breakfast. Absent was the young couple and the mother and boy.
Across from Cordnoir sat the young woman with the velvet dress.
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